In the Land of Gods and Monsters
by Petronille
Summary: Takes place during the early episodes of Season 3. Peter Pan is seemingly invincible, but the King of Faerie's Summer Queen, who is originally from the land without magic, might prove to be his undoing. The story of Aimee Dubuc de Rivery, her abduction by Long John Silver, her enslavement by Peter Pan, her ill-fated love affair with Killian Jones, and her marriage to King Oberon.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Once Upon a Time,**_** and Aimee Dubuc de Rivery was a real person. This will incorporate elements of **_**The Faerie Queen**_** and **_**A Midsummer Night's Dream**_**. I will put up the playlist in later chapters.**

**In the Land of Gods and Monsters**

**Prelude: Aimee**

When one tells a story, one must always start with the beginning, and when one tells a _true_ story, one must start with a _true_ beginning. It mustn't be some half-dreamed embellishment that one recounts with eyes that sparkle with excitement and cheeks that flush with the thrill of quickly creating the tale in the mind and then transferring that vision to the tongue. Those are the stories that others believe because they are just good enough to be true, yet not too good to be false.

Such were the stories my cousin Rose always told.

Rose liked to say that it happened in Martinique, during my supposed sojourn at La Pagerie, when she and her sister Catherine and I sneaked out of the sucrerie to hear our fortunes. Imagine it—Rose and I gigglingly walking down the path to the house of Euphemia David, sucking on sugarcane and hearts giddy and frightened of what we might learn, while little Catherine followed reluctantly, reminding us that our parents and the priest would not like it if they found out. And we laughed at her, as elder sisters and cousins are wont to do when the younger one speaks the truth, yet still she followed, out of her own curiosity and desire to see no harm happen to us. So down the path we went, Rose stopping now and then to look at a plant or flower that struck her fancy, while I urged her to hurry. And then finally, finally we arrived at the weather-beaten shack that served as Euphemia David's home. And Madame David—who must have heard our whispers and titters—emerged from that shack with a knowing smile and invited us to come in to have our fortunes told.

Catherine stubbornly remained outside while Rose and I ventured into the half-dark shack, our eyes widening at the strange things we saw in there. And Madame David sat down at her worn table and held out her hand, and into it we each shakily placed a bit of our pocket money, a piece of silver.

First she took Rose's hand, and after a few moments she slid her dark eyes up to my cousin's face and wove a sad tale, a tale of an inconstant first husband and a sad marriage, of a time of woe and suffering, and then of happiness and light, of a dark stranger (here I giggled) with a great destiny, who would take her as his wife and at whose side she would rule in triumph as one more royal than a queen. But then after, there would be great heartbreak, though there would be some contentment toward the end.

Then she turned to me, and she took my hand into her work-hardened one. She stared at it for some time, and then her lips curved into a smile as she looked up at me. "_You_," she said, "you will be plucked up after a storm and subject to the whims of a boy king. But in time, you will be raised high by another king, so high that they will forget how you came to be among them, and they will value your words as much as they do the one at whose side you will sit. And after a time of peril and war, there will be much happiness and peace. And you will never wish to return home again."

And then imagine us girls, exchanging mystified glances as the old woman led us out. Imagine us dazzled by the sudden rush into sunlight and thinking, for a moment, that it had all been a dream. And then sauntering back to La Pagerie, quiet, contemplative, wondering whether or not Madame David's words had been true.

And now forget the vision, because it was all a story, a sentimental tale made up by my charming cousin to beguile and entertain the many guests who passed through her home.

The truth is more fantastic than any story my cousin Rose, known to France and the world as Josephine, Empress of the French, could ever spin.

It is not the story that most would think of when they hear my name.

Mine begins just as hers did: A young Creole girl in a white muslin dress, sent to France to polish the provincial tarnish away, so that she would return to Martinique a fine French lady.

Only unlike Rose, I would never see Martinique again.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****_Once Upon a Time,_**** and Aimee Dubucq de Rivery was a real person. If you would like to know more about her, I will add something. Playlist will be posted later.**

**In the Land of Gods and Monsters**

**Chapter One**

Aimee Augustine Marie Josephe Dubucq de Rivery was on a long-awaited holiday from convent school. The Convent des Dames de la Visitation was considered to be one of the finest schools in Brittany, if not France itself. But instead of returning to the torpor and indolence of the Caribbean summer, she was staying with her uncle, Roland Dubucq de Saint-Preuve, whose house was in Nantes as well. It wasn't much of a holiday, she had to admit, but it was still wonderful to have some freedom from the daily routine of school. This was the third holiday she had spent in her uncle's house, the second on her own, since her cousin Anne-Therese had married the spring before.

The house was a quiet one. M. Dubucq de Saint-Preuve was a devout, temperate man, more interested in his sugar trade interests than anything else. He offered to look after his niece more out of family loyalty than anything else, but it wasn't as though he was a cruel man. Really, he was quite kind to his niece, but it always seemed that he was preoccupied with other things, mostly his business interests.

But it was by listening to the conversations he had with his business partners and other guests that showed Aimee the ways of the world and the ruthlessness in which men determined the fates of those who were beholden to them. It was so easy to eavesdrop on them. Long after she was supposed to have retired, she would sneak out of her bedroom and crouch in the corner of the second-floor hallway. Her uncle's study was below, and many times the door was indiscreetly left open, and that was when she would hear things. Terrible things and not-so-terrible things, like gossip about the most prominent families, news from court, business talk.

It was here that she learned about the sordid business concerning her cousin Rose and her husband, Alexandre de Beauharnais. There had been whispers at the convent school about Alexandre being a model for the Vicomte de Valmont in _Les liaisons dangereuses_, and there was much reason to believe that it was the truth. No matter how much some might protest, it there was an element of truth to it. And no matter how much families tried to shield their young, innocent daughters from such scurrilous gossip, there were always ways of finding out.

And then she heard it: the discussion of a dowry when it came to her, and of how much sugarcane, coffee, and indigo La Trinite produced each year.

"It produces enough so that my brother and his family might live very comfortably while sending their daughter to one of the best schools in France instead of some backwater nunnery that only teaches girls to be good little Creole wives." She heard her uncle chuckle. "Of course, that is only if one has no grand ambitions and wishes to remain in the Caribbean with the hurricanes and the mosquitoes for the rest of his days."

Aimee cringed at this.

"But then," her uncle resnumed, "my brother does wish to remain in Martinique for the rest of his days. It's the weather, you see. He came back to France a few years ago and complained that he couldn't abide the cold. That was when he brought Aimee to Nantes, and he hasn't been back since."

"I imagine it's a burden, having her about for holidays when you're worried about work," another guest remarked, and there was a laugh.

Aimee frowned at this.

"My niece isn't a burden-not much of one, anyhow," her uncle replied. "She is a quiet little thing, and spends most of her time upstairs practicing the harpsichord or reading the classics, or whatever it is young ladies do."

_Not much of a burden._

"She has that maid of hers to keep her company and to indulge her whims, so it isn't too distracting. I can simply hand her some pocket money and send her out, or let her use the library, and she is happy as a cricket."

"But then such ease of nature might not last," another guest laughed.

"No, no, such things do not last. She is young, but she will soon grow to be as other women are, and woe betide the man who marries her!"

"Thank God for the dowry!" another guest intoned.

Aimee leaned back against the wall, hurt. And so was this the way men talked of their wives, sisters, daughters, and nieces, with such scorn and derision, all the while showing a face of kindness? And if all men were this way, what would a husband be like? For she was certain that she was going to marry, because that was the way of things right now. A Creole girl with a large dowry marrying an impoverished, titled nobleman. The noble family's prestige was restored, and the Creole family had yet another noble connection to its family. Never mind that a Creole family might be minor nobility, because they were still provincials from the colonies, indolent and frivolous.

Aimee returned to her room as quickly as she could, flinging herself upon her bed and waking Cecile.

"Mademoiselle?" Cecile murmured, and Aimee felt a little surge of annoyance that she had awakened her maid.

"Go back to sleep, Cecile," she snapped.

Cecile must have gone back to sleep, for there was no further movement from the trundle bed.

Though her cheeks felt hot and tears pricked her eyes, Aimee did not cry.

Instead, she repeated the words overheard from the conversation over and over again in her head. Not much of a burden. Frivolous. Indolent. Such an ease of nature might not last.

She did not see herself as indolent or frivolous. Of course there were times when she could be flighty, but then there were times when she was just as clever-or more so, said the nuns-than most girls her age. The Queen was flighty, sometimes, it was said, but really, she seemed a perfectly lovely woman with beautiful little children. Now Aimee wondered if, were she presented at court, she would get on with the Queen. And if she got on with the Queen, then they could spend all day in the Petit Trianon and the little village in Versailles playing with the children and writing poems and performing plays and gathering strawberries and having picnics in the wildflower garden. And they could be as flighty, frivolous, and indolent as they pleased and no one would say a thing. Because she was a Dubucq de Rivery and was a favorite of the Queen.

_Remember. Always remember. You are a Dubucq de Rivery. Your papa is a very important man._

And that was something that she would always remember.

* * *

"How would you like," Roland Dubucq de Saint-Preuve asked his niece at supper a few days later, "to go to Le Havre to visit your cousin Rose while I tended to some business there?"

Aimee stopped crumbling her bread and looked up at her uncle. "Rose is in Le Havre?"

"I received word from the Vicomte de Beauharnais that she has," Roland replied as he sipped at his wine. "She intends on sailing for Martinique as soon as she can book passage on a ship for herself and little Hortense."

_Little Hortense._ Aimee hadn't seen little Hortense since last summer. How much had she grown?

"I should like to purchase some presents for Rose to take back to Maman, Papa, Henriette, Alexandrine, and little Henri," she told her uncle, and he shrugged.

"You will have to ask Rose if she will do that for you, but I am sure that she will oblige." He regarded her strangely. "Aimee," he began.

Aimee straightened in her seat. "Yes, uncle?"

"Whatever may happen, do not allow your cousin to involve you in her silliness. She can be very frivolous. Be careful with your pocket money, and be sure that your gifts aren't too extravagant."

_Extravagant. Silliness._ "Rose isn't silly," she said. "Maman says…"

Roland laughed. "My dear girl, regardless of what you may believe-and regardless of what your maman has told you-your cousin Rose is quite extravagant and doesn't live as one of her means should. I would not like that to rub off on you.."

"It won't," Aimee insisted.

"Be sure that it doesn't," Roland cautioned her sternly. "And from now on, Aimee, you should not be so quick to contradict your elders. Do I make myself clear?"

Aimee's eyes flicked down to her plate, and then looking up, she nodded and murmured, "Yes, Uncle."

It was a false show of respect right then, but Aimee wasn't going to argue with her uncle. If she said anything more, he might leave her here, and she would not be able to spend time with Rose or little Hortense.

After supper, she went upstairs to her room to finish the embroidery she had been working on that afternoon. The night was balmy, and so she had Cecile open the window to let in the pleasant air to cool and freshen the room.

From her window, Aimee could catch glimpses of the harbor, of the ships docking and sailing off. Bored and without a way to occupy herself one afternoon, she had found a book on sailing ships in her uncle's library and had set to trying to determine which ship was which based on the descriptions and pictures in the book. Because it stayed lighter later now, there were ships still coming into and leaving the harbor.

As it grew darker, Cecile stepped out onto the balcony to close the doors, but then Aimee heard her gasp. When Aimee looked up, Cecile was standing right in front of the balcony, her hands clutching one of the doors tightly as she stared out toward the sea in front of her.

"Cecile," Aimee whispered, "Cecile, what is it?"

"I don't know, Mademoiselle," Cecile answered in a hushed voice. "I thought it was lightning, but…"

And then Aimee saw it, too.

It was a strange flashing in the sky, the blue-white color of lightning. But it didn't slash across the sky as lightning did. Rather, it glowed, almost like columns of light…The Northern Lights? No, that was silly; one could only see the Northern Lights in winter, and one would have to be farther north at that.

"It can't be lightning," Cecile said fearfully.

Aimee watched it as it flashed again. There seemed to be a sort of shimmer to it, and it seemed to undulate, like wavelets in the ocean or a lake…

"It must be lightning," Aimee insisted, shuddering. "Close the door, Cecile, it's getting chill."

Cecile closed the doors and pulled the curtains tightly across them so that neither of them could see the strange lights in the sky.

Strangely, there were no storms when they retired, so even if the girls had dismissed the lights as lightning, they knew that what they had seen was not just lightning.

But even as she slept, Aimee dreamt of the lights. She dreamt that she was back home in Martinique at La Trinite, playing near the fields with her sister.

And then she saw the lights.

They were shimmering, luminescent columns that glowed a beautiful, yet dangerous blue light. And then the columns coalesced into something that resembled a doorway. Transfixed, Aimee took a few steps closer.

The light began to undulate, much like the lights she had seen in the sky had done, and through the lights, she could see what appeared to be trees similar to those found in Martinique, and she could hear the twitter of birdsong and she could smell a sweet, heady scent of flowers, namely honeysuckle.

She stopped in front of the light now, and she carefully she extended her hand to touch it. It was warm, calming, like the water in the ocean lagoons she had so often swum in as a child.

But then as she withdrew her hand, another hand shot out from the light and grabbed hers. The grip was strong, cold, and cruel, and the hand was a long-fingered, pale hand, the sort of hand a specter might have.

No matter how much she struggled, the hand kept pulling her into the light, and then she passed through it, and then the terrible cold as she did…

Aimee awoke, screaming, opening her eyes to see that there was no hand that gripped hers, but still the terrible chill left by it lingered.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****_Once Upon a Time_****, and Aimee Debuc de Rivery was a real person. Even though the supposedly real Aimee was eleven at the time of her disappearance, in this story, Aimee is sixteen.**

In the Land of Gods and Monsters

Chapter Two  
  
_Le Havre._

_June, 1788._

Aimee alighted from her uncle's carriage and surveyed the house that her cousin Rose had rented for the few weeks she was staying in Le Havre. It wasn't a particularly large house, but it wasn't too small, either. It was just the sort of house that Rose would have rented for such a thing, Aimee thought. And-whatever Roland Dubucq may believe-it was not too extravagant.

Rose was gracious to Roland, and offered him some collations, which he refused, and as soon as he was gone, Rose turned to Aimee with a secretive smile.

"And so now he's gone!" Rose called for her own servant, Euphemie, to bring some collations from the kitchen and bade Aimee to sit in the furnished parlor of the house. "How Hortense will love to see you when she wakes up from her nap! And what fun she'll have with you! She was very excited you were coming to visit. She hasn't been able to speak of anything else for two days."

"I can't wait to see Hortense," Aimee said. "Has she grown since I saw her last?"

Rose nodded. "She has. Three inches. She is very proud of herself." She surveyed Aimee. "And you've grown a little bit."

"Only an inch."

"Really! I wouldn't have known it was only an inch! Look how well you sit. And come, Aimee, show how you can walk like a Parisienne now and not like a lazy Creole!"

Aimee indulged her cousin and rose. She made her way around the room, showing off the correct walk that she had perfected, and Rose clapped her hands and laughed. "There now! You see? You are a perfect French lady! You will be presented to the Queen and she shall take a fancy to you and ensure that you make a good marriage."

"You think so?" Aimee said, thrilled that her charming, polished cousin thought such.

"Of course you shall," Rose insisted, sipping at her tea and then pouring Aimee some. "Now tomorrow, Aimee…Shall we shop for gifts for your family so that I can take them back to Martinique for you?"

Aimee nodded.

"And then," Rose said, "a friend whom I met in Fontainebleau this summer is coming to dine with us tomorrow night. Hortense will have to go to bed, of course, but you must have dinner at least, Aimee. We will help prepare you for dinners at court!"

Aimee leaned forward eagerly. "And are dinners at court the grand affairs that everyone says they are?"

Rose laughed, nodding. "Even grander. And the Queen will adore you-mark my words. Everything that is Creole is adored right now…oh, believe me, Aimee, they will love you…"

How funny that was, that everything that was Creole, and considered lazy and indolent, was loved at court! And why would such men as her uncle be detractors of all that was considered beautiful and loved at court?

Aimee thought no more of it as Euphemie led little Hortense, just awakened from her nap, downstairs. Hortense let out a squeal of joy and ran to Aimee, who rose to embrace her.

"Are you coming with us to Martinique, Aimee?" Hortense queried. She turned to her mother. "Is she, Maman?"

Rose approached them and ruffled Hortense's golden curls. "Cousin Aimee is only staying with us for a few days while her uncle conducts business in the city. She isn't coming with us to Martinique, cherie."

Hortense turned to Aimee with a curious expression on her face. "You will still play with me, though?" she asked Aimee.

"Of course I will play with you."

"I haven't brought many toys with me," Hortense went on. "I left them with Grandpapa and Tante Edmee. But…Maman says you can dance. Will you teach me to dance?"

Aimee thought this sweet. She wondered what sort of picture Rose had planted in Hortense's head regarding her. Hortense seemed to think her as refined a French lady as Rose had turned out to be, but to Aimee, this was far from the truth. While Aimee was considered to excel in her studies and her courses in deportment, and while some of the nuns found her charming, they often would shake their heads at how reserved she could be when confronted with strangers. One had to be charming and able to converse properly, Aimee was told. And it wasn't that Aimee couldn't do it after having known people for awhile, but it was simply that her reserve kept her from being witty and charming at the right moments with people whom she didn't know.

Of course she knew that it would come to her, at least that was what Soeur Angelique had said as Aimee had helped her in the stillroom. She was still young yet, and she hadn't really been to court or other places enough so that she would learn how to converse properly and to hold her fan or handkerchief in such a way or even use her fan or handkerchief to convey some sort of unspoken meaning.

But then she thought of Rose, and of how gauche and unsophisticated Alexandre had thought her to be when they had first married. Rose had had to learn how to be a lady of Creole birth yet French manners, and everyone thought her pleasing and charming. And Rose had not had the singular educational opportunities that Aimee had.

And yes, she was still so young…

Aimee laughed, and then took little Hortense to the center of the room to show her how to begin the minuet.

She decided that she would take advantage of the time she had here with Rose to see what else she could learn, despite what her uncle said.

* * *

Aimee awakened with chattering teeth and sat up to unfold the other blanket that had been lain on the edge of the bed. How could Rose stand this house? It was so drafty-and the chimneys smoked! She wanted to call for Cecile to heat up another brick for her to tuck into her bed near her feet, but then she thought better of it. It wasn't worth awakening the entire household for that, she reasoned. So the other blanket would have to do, she reasoned.

She had not really had any more haunting dreams like she had that one night. She brought her arm in front of her face and pulled back the sleeve of her nightgown to see whether or not the bruises had faded from her forearm. They had, slightly. She could still feel the coldness of those fingers, though, and see the paleness of the hand as though it had just happened. It wasn't just a dream, even though she had tried to convince herself that it had been. It was real.

She should pray-she knew she ought to pray about it, because the priest at school would simply tell her that her faith in God was wavering, and that perhaps God was allowing Satan to put her to the test as the two had done with Job in the Bible.

But then that was silly. If God was supposed to be as loving and caring of his flock as He was supposed to be, as Jesus said He was, then why did the priests say that He was an angry, vengeful God as he used to be? But then Aimee dared not venture these questions to the priests or nuns, because then she would be called blasphemous or heretic and would be severely punished indeed. And were she punished and her papa heard of her wavering devotion to the Church, then what would he say?

Aimee got out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown around herself. There was no use going to sleep now, she thought. Her mind was wide awake, and she could not stop thinking. She decided to go downstairs instead and try to see if there were any books worth her while in the rented house's salon.

She lit a candle and, reaching for her dressing gown, quietly made her way downstairs. The house was almost as silent as a grave at night; the only sounds she could hear were the breeze outside and the ticking of the clocks in the house. She found the door to the salon downstairs and ventured in. The curtains were closed, and she thought the effect of the single flicker of light from her candle to lend an eerie quality to the room. Nonetheless, she found the bookshelf and selected a copy of_ Paul and Virginia_. She picked up the candlestick again and was ready to make her way out of the room when she saw a deck of cards lying on one of the side tables of the salon. Upon closer inspection, she found that they were Rose's Tarot cards.

Aimee had always been lectured about the evils of such things by her mother, grandmother, and now the nuns at the convent, for they were considered the instruments of witches and sinners, instruments which they used to commune with demons and evil spirits. Yet Rose, Aimee knew, had always consulted them, and it was no surprise to Aimee that Rose had procured her own deck and had learned to read them herself. And God hadn't struck Rose down yet, had he? So what would the harm be in looking at some of them?

She set the candlestick upon the table and knelt down, placing the book on the floor. She shuffled the cards as she had seen Rose and Euphemie do, and then she set the deck back down on the table.

She reached for a card in the deck, then inhaled, closing her eyes, trying to think of what she ought to ask.

Of course.

What had the dream from a few nights ago meant?

She lifted the card, turning it over, lying it down gently on the table, and then she opened her eyes, eager to see what card she had drawn.

It was the Tower.

* * *

"Did you sleep well last night, mademoiselle?" Cecile asked Aimee as she fastened the buttons on the back of Aimee's dress the following morning. Aimee glanced back at Cecile, the reply on the tip of her tongue, and then she turned away.

"I slept well enough, thank you, Cecile," Aimee said quietly.

"You are certain, mademoiselle?" Cecile persisted, gesturing to the book lain on Aimee's bedside table.

Aimee turned to Cecile. "Of course I am certain,:" she said crossly. "And who are you to ask whether or not I'm certain if I slept well last night?"

Aimee thought she saw a gleam of hurt in Cecile's eyes, but then Cecile regained her neutral expression and replied carefully, "I am sorry, mademoiselle. I didn't mean for my question to offend. In the future I will not venture with such questions."

"Cecile…" Aimee began, but Cecile did not respond. Instead she continued helping Aimee to dress, and then she stepped away, curtsied at Aimee, and murmured something about work having to be done.

"Cecile," Aimee said, "I am very sorry. Do say you forgive me…please! I couldn't bear having hurt your feelings…"

Cecile bit her lip, then glanced up at Aimee from her mending. "Your apology is accepted, mademoiselle."

"It is? You're not just saying that?"

"Of course not, mademoiselle. Why would I say such a thing?" Cecile replied as she threaded her needle and turned her attention to the silk stocking in her lap.

Aimee decided not to pursue it any further and left the bedroom to go downstairs. Hortense and Rose were already at the breakfast table when Aimee joined them, and Rose glanced up at Aimee as she took her place. Rose put aside the letters she had been reading and reached for a plate for Aimee.

"You slept late, cousin," Rose remarked. "Did Hortense really tire you so much?"

"Aimee isn't tired!" Hortense protested, her brow furrowing in childish concern and indignation. "Are you, Aimee? You're not too tired, are you?" she asked Aimee.

Aimee laughed and shook her head. "No, cherie, I'm not." She broke the bread on the plate in front of her and buttered it. She noted that Rose was watching her carefully, and once Hortense had finished her breakfast, Rose called for Euphieme to take Hortense outside to play in the garden. Hortense began to insist that she was perfectly content sitting here with cousin Aimee and that she didn't want to go outside, but Rose shook her head, and Hortense stopped objecting. Once Euphemie had taken Hortense out to the garden, Rose turned to Aimee.

"Aimee, is there something troubling you?" Rose ventured carefully, her dark blue eyes not leaving Aimee's face.

"Why would you think that, Rose?" Aimee asked as she drank her milk.

"You don't look as though you slept well at all last night, Aimee. You don't look as though you've slept well the past few nights," Rose said.

Aimee glared down at the skirt of her gown. Why did they have to ask? First Cecile, then Rose, and Aimee knew that she couldn't brush Rose off with brusque words as she had Cecile. What to say, then? Aimee racked her brains.

Should she tell Rose about the dreams? Or the Tarot card she had drawn, for that matter? Would Rose tell her mother if she visited La Trinite? And what would Maman say…and what would Grandmere say? Would they immediately draw her out of school here in France and have her uncle put her on the next ship home to Martinique, where she would finish her studies at the dreary little Ursuline convent in Fort-de-France, where she would marry a plantation owner and finish her days as a dreary little Creole wife?

But the cards were Rose's. How would Rose explain that to Aimee's mother and grandmother, let alone her own mother?

Why not swear Rose to secrecy, like she and her schoolmates at the convent did when divulging their deepest, darkest hopes, fears, and dreams?

"If I tell you," Aimee said, "do you promise not to tell Maman, or Grandmere, if you see them in Martinique?"

Rose uttered a tsk and her brows knitted. "Aimee, really! It can't be that terrible! Swearing me to secrecy is silly! Why…"

Aimee's heart sank. "Rose," she begged. "Rose, please do not tell Maman or Grandmere…It isn't terrible, really; nothing unspeakable has happened to me, but…but you simply cannot tell Maman or Grandmere—you just can't! Just please say you won't!"

Rose sighed and closed her eyes momentarily, looking for a moment as though she were simply exhausted, and she scrubbed her hand over her forehead. "You're certain it isn't something that I need to tell your mother and grandmother?"

"Yes!" Aimee intoned.

Rose sat back in her chair, defeated, and she conceded, "Very well, then, Aimee, I won't tell your mother or your grandmother whatever it is you're going to tell me."

"You must swear it!" Aimee insisted.

"Swear it? Swear it on what? Don't ask me to swear on the Bible or in God's name; that sounds ominous and that's not something I would care to do."

Aimee racked her brains. What should she ask Rose to swear by? "Swear an oath by our blood bond as cousins," she ordered Rose.

"How should you like me to swear it, then, Aimee?" Rose asked her.

Aimee relaxed now. Rose was willing to do this. "Put your hand right hand over your heart and hold up your left hand."

Rose did as Aimee instructed. "Now what do I do?" she asked Aimee.

"Say this: 'I, Marie Josephe Rose de Beauharnais, nee Tascher de la Pagerie, do so solemnly swear…'"

Rose shot Aimee an exasperated look, then began, "I, Marie Josephe Rose de Beauharnais, nee Tascher de la Pagerie, do so solemnly swear…What is it I need to swear, Aimee?"

"Swear that you will not breathe a word of what I tell you to another soul, on pain of death, and on the welfare of your eternal soul."

"Aimee!"

"Rose, you promised you would!"

"Oh, Dieu!" Rose exclaimed. "I, Marie Josephe Rose de Beauharnais, nee Tascher de la Pagerie, do so solemnly swear not to breathe a word of what you tell me to another soul, on pain of death, and on the welfae of my eternal soul." Rose took her right hand from her heart and put down her left hand with a jerk, and then demanded, "Now will you tell me what ails you, Aimee?"

Aimee quickly glanced around her to see whether or not any of the servants were listening, and she inhaled shakily and began, very quietly, "Oh, Rose, I am so frightened! I have been having the strangest dreams, the most…realistic dreams. And I haven't been sleeping at all…"

"Anyone could have seen that, Aimee," Rose said much more gently, reaching across the table to take Aimee's hand into hers. "Tell me what your dreams have been about, cherie. Is there anything in particular that frightens you?"

"It's always the same dream," Aimee told Rose, and she regaled to her cousin the dreams she had been having the past few nights.

"But it is only a dream," Rose comforted. "You must tell yourself that, and soon the dreams will stop. You must trust me on this, Aimee. I used to have terrible nightmares that almost made my heart stop, but when I would awake I would always remind myself that they were dreams and that there was nothing to be frightened of."

"Are you so certain?" And Aimee released Rose's hand from hers and pulled back the lace of her sleeve to reveal the bruise that circled her wrist, the purple having begun to fade to a putrid greenish brown.

Rose gasped and gently took Aimee's wrist. "Why, darling, who has done this to you? Are you certain no one has been hurting you? Your uncle? His friends? His servants?"

"It wasn't Uncle. No one living has done me any ill, Rose,"Aimee insisted. "I had the dream for the very first time, and I awakened with this bruise."

Rose shuddered. "Oh, Aimee! There is more to it, is there? Tell me there isn't more!"

Aimee drew back her wrist and pulled the sleeve back down to conceal the bruise. "There is," she told Rose. "On the very night I had the first dream, Cecile and I saw something very strange. It was so frightening, Rose…"

"What was it?" Rose whispered, her eyes wide.

"Lights," Aimee replied. "We saw lights in the sky. Not like lightning, but columns of light, like the aurora borealis that occurs in the north during winter. But it was different. It was a sort of bluish white light—not like the aurora borealis at all—because the lights weren't stationary. They moved, they shimmered—like water in the sunlight. You know how that looks don't you? Remember, the ocean in Martinique, and how the currents looked as they moved at sunrise or sunset…"

"I remember," Rose said. "And I have seen what you have seen."

Aimee leaned forward, her heart leaping to her throat. So Rose had seen something like it, too! "Where?" Aimee exclaimed. "When?"

Rose smiled wanly, tucking one of Aimee's loose fair curls back behind her ear. "You would have been a little girl then, Aimee. When I left Martinique for France with my father and my aunt to marry Alexandre, there was a singular event that took place in the sky. Some say it was a shooting star, and yes, I did see a shooting star, but I also saw something else…"

"You saw lights like I saw?" Aimee posited.

"Not like what you saw," Rose said. "They weren't solid like your lights. Instead, these lights were silvery, and they moved along the water like will o' the wisps. Papa laughed and said that they nothing more than the fish and other creatures of the sea, but I think he was trying to comfort me. I don't think he even believed what he was telling me. He seemed so nervous about the lights…and the shadow..."

"Do you think he knew what they were?"

Rose shrugged. "Who can say? Papa conceals much from everyone, no matter how much we love him."

Aimee drew a trembling breath. "Oh, Rose!"

"Aimee, what is it now?"

"Oh, Rose, there's more!"

"Do tell me, Aimee."

"When I couldn't sleep last night, I came downstairs to the salon to fetch a book to read. I saw your Tarot deck on the table, and I grew curious, so I shuffled it, and I drew a card…"

Rose leaned forward, a hint of dread creeping into her countenance as she took Aimee's hand into her own once more. "Aimee, what card did you draw?"

"I drew the Tower."

"And what question did you ask yourself as you drew it?"

"I asked myself what the dreams I have been having of late might mean." Aimee turned her face up to Rose's, her own blue eyes burrowing into those of her cousin's. "What does it mean, Rose?"

"It is a card of the Major Arcana." Rose licked her lips. "It means traumatic change, the destruction of a way of life, revolution, the loss of stability within a relationship, financial losses, devastation, the destruction of the old paving the way for the new."

Aimee shivered, clenching her hands into fists so that they would stop trembling. "Then it is something to be frightened of?"

"Frightened? Of course not, darling! It might not have anything to do with you at all, and the question and answer could both mean so many things! So no, there is nothing to worry about! So don't trouble yourself over it, Aimee!"

Aimee regarded Rose incredulously. "You're certain? You're certain that there is nothing to be frightened about, Rose?"

Rose blinked a few times, as though she were deliberating what to say next. A sudden close-lipped smile broke across Rose's face and she took both of Aimee's hands into her own again. "I am very certain, Aimee. Now I was thinking of taking you to the shops so that you might purchase some gifts for your family, and Hortense needs a few more dresses for the warmer weather back home. What do you think of that, darling? Do you think that we shall have a lovely time today?"

Aimee, taking a cue from Rose, smiled as well. "I think," she said, despite the dreadful churning of her stomach, "that that shall be a lovely way to spend today."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****_Once Upon a Time,_**** and Aimee Dubuc de Rivery was a real person.**

In the Land of Gods and Monsters

Chapter Three  
  
Aimee found shopping with Rose that day to be a great distraction to the questions and dreams that had been plaguing her for the last few days. While Rose was careful to purchase only what she, Hortense, and Euphemie might need for their trip to Martinique, Aimee was able to be less exacting with her spending. She purchased a new hat for her mother, a set of tin soldiers for her brother, a new watch for her father, a new set of perfumed gloves for her Grandmere d'Arbousset, and two dolls for her sisters. She found a lovely bunch of lace for Cecile and bought that as well; perhaps that would soothe the tension between the two of them. At least, Aimee hoped that this would happen.

"Do you know," Rose said as they entered the house on their return from their shopping trip, "that Madame de Louvon is coming to dine tonight?"

"Who is Madame de Louvon?" Aimee asked as she handed Cecile her shawl and hat.

"Madame de Louvon," Rose replied, "is the wife of the Chevalier de Louvon, and she was born in Guadeloupe. So she is another Creole, Aimee! Imagine how pleased she was when I told her that you were visiting! Madame de Louvon's husband is very well connected, and he has several nephews who will be of marriageable age in the next few years. Oh, don't look at me like that, Aimee! It is best to see what your prospects might be before you are truly looking. You never know when or where you might meet a good marriage prospect. If you were to marry one of de Louvon's nephews, there is a very good chance that you would be presented at court, and that you would be able to sit on a tambour beside the Queen. Their family goes as far back as the time of Eleanor of Aquitaine's reign as queen of France. Tell me, Aimee cherie, what would you think of that?"

Aimee listened carefully to Rose's words. The de Louvons were clearly a well connected family, and Aimee knew that she would bring a large dowry with her when she married. And if the de Louvon nephews were handsome and good…how very happy she would be!

"How did you meet Madame de Louvon?" Aimee asked Rose as she followed Rose to the salon.

Rose subsided onto the sofa and bade Aimee to sit in the chair beside it. "At Fontainebleau," she replied. "You would be very surprised, Aimee—we Creoles tend to seek each other out, to stick together. It is what we must do, even though everything about us is all the rage at court right now. Once the little Dauphin becomes King, we don't know what sort of Queen we will have, do we? So that is why it's so important for us provincials from the colonies to remain close to one another."

Aimee knew that this was true. Who knew what another queen might prefer?

"So that is why it's advantageous," Rose was saying, "to think of such things like marriage now. And for your own sake, Aimee, it is better to know who you are marrying before you marry him. I am sure you understand that."

"I do," Aimee replied.

"Good," Rose said. "Now all you have to do is be yourself, for Madame de Louvon will love you as you are. Regardless of what anyone might say, Aimee, you are a lovely girl, and anyone at court who meets you will instantly be charmed by you. And not only that, but you are clever, and that will serve you well in the salons! Women who are clever and witty are much prized now, and if you remain as you are, you shall be quite successful at court."

"You are certain?" Aimee said.

Rose smiled. "I know so. Your papa and maman might not care for my intercession on your behalf, but I feel that I must help to arrange your happiness. If someone had done so for me, I believe that I would have been happier, but then I would not trade Tante Edmee or my father-in-law or my children for anything. But you shouldn't have an unhappy marriage, Aimee, not like I did. I shall see to it that you have at least a chance of being happy."

"You shall?" Aimee said quietly, a sort of relief flooding through her. Yes, this was perfect! If Rose was able to engineer Aimee's happiness, if Aimee was able to be married to a wealthy nobleman with an ancient family line and if she was able to be presented at court, if she was able to pave the way for her sisters and her brother to marry well…

She would write a letter for Rose to take to her mother, she decided. If she could stay with Rose from now on, and not with her Uncle Roland, then surely that would better ensure her future. And if she were able to meet the Comte de Beauharnais, perhaps word would circulate that she was a sweet, charming girl and would be a joy for any nobleman to have as a wife!

Aimee excused herself and went upstairs. There were the gifts that must be sorted, and the lace to give to Cecile. And everything looked bright and wonderful, more so than it had in awhile. And for once, she forgot the dreams that had been keeping her up at night.

* * *

Athenais de Louvon was one of the most elegant women Aimee had ever laid eyes upon, aside from her own mother and her cousin Rose. Madame de Louvon walked with the indolent grace attributed to Creoles but with the small, dainty steps so desirable in the French court. She and Rose exchanged kisses, and when Rose introduced Aimee to Madame de Louvon, the latter took Aimee's hand and looked down at her as though appraising her. Then she turned to Rose and pronounced, "She is truly lovely, Rose! Your words did her no justice!"

Aimee was surprised at this. "Why—why, thank you, madame…"

Madame de Louvon smiled. "You are welcome, Mademoiselle Dubucq. Your cousin has nothing but kind words to say of you, and I can see that she has been nothing but truthful about it."

Rose smiled her lovely close-lipped smile at Aimee, who smiled back, careful to imitate her cousin's alluring attribute.

At supper, Madame de Louvon spoke of how wonderful it was a court, and how the Queen was truly a graceful, thoughtful woman and loving mother, and not the empty-headed Machiavellian that some thought her to be. "The Queen has the loveliest manners and the most exquisite taste. She surrounds herself with all that is beauty and grace, and loves simplicity beyond all else. She would adore you, Aimee."

Madame de Louvon also spoke of Paris, and of the different salons there, and of how, one day, Aimee must attend a salon when she was older, so that she might become acquainted and connected with some of the most intellectual, artistic, and connected people in Paris.

"But Madame," Aimee protested, "one must be wildly clever to succeed in the salons, and I am afraid I am not good at saying dazzlingly clever things at all. Many times when I say something, I am told that I have said the wrong thing, and that I should say no more."

Madame de Louvon sipped at her wine and laughed. "But you are still so young! Rose was not terribly clever when we first met, were you, darling?"

"No, I wasn't," Rose replied. "But while I was at the convent, I had other ladies there to help me, Aimee, Madame de Louvon included."

"And Rose didn't have the advantage of the education that you have had," Madame de Louvon told Aimee. "Now if we were able to turn Rose from an ugly duckling into a swan, then what do you think we might make out of you, Mademoiselle Dubucq?"

Indeed, what might they make out of her? With her education at one of the most prestigious convent schools and Brittany, and with their assistance, she might become the great lady she had always wished to be. She might be able to become so French that many would hardly be able to see that she was a Creole, and if that were the case, they might be able to do the same for her sisters and help them to secure good marriages…

After dinner, they decamped to the salon, where both Rose and Madame de Louvon laughingly reminisced about court and their time together in the convent and exchanged stories of their childhoods in Martinique, each one asking the other if they knew this or that family, or whether or not they knew whatever happened to this or that person. Aimee recognized some of the names, and when asked, she was able to provide some information as to which girl might have married into which family or who might have owned which property or what might have happened to someone.

And then Rose began to tell the story that Aimee had heard before, of how, when she was very young, she had gone to a local wisewoman called Euphemia David ("not to be confused with my servant Euphemie," she cautioned) to have her fortune told. In exchange for her pocket money, Euphemia David had told Rose her fortune, of how Rose would marry in France and bear two children, but her first marriage would not be happy. And then there was the other part: the part about the dark, handsome soldier who would conquer the world and make her more than a queen. And after a time of happiness, Rose would end her days in contentment and peace, yet wishing for her childhood days in Martinique.

Madame de Louvon's eyes widened at this, and then she asked, "Do you still use your Tarot cards, Rose?"

"Sometimes," Rose replied. "And do you still read palms?"

Madame de Louvon laughed at this. "Only to entertain at parties, Rose!"

Rose's face brightened at what seemed to be a flash of childish impetuousness. "Read Aimee's palm, Athenais. Let's see what kind of future she will have!"

Aimee hesitated at this. "Rose…"

"Oh, come now, Aimee, it is perfectly harmless!" Madame de Louvon interrupted. "Rose has had her fortune told, as have I, and both of ours have come true to some extent. Why not let me tell yours so that you might know of what life might bring you? It is always good to have some kind of idea of what destiny has in store for you!"

Madame de Louvon sat down on the sofa beside Aimee, holding out her hand. Aimee glanced at Rose, who nodded at her as though to urge her on. Reluctantly, Aimee held out her own hand, palm up, for Madame de Louvon's inspection, and she started a bit when Madame de Louvon took Aimee's hand into both of hers.

Madame de Louvon stared down at Aimee's hand, studying it for a long time, and then she traced her forefinger along some of the lines on Aimee's palm. She gasped suddenly, startling Aimee, and Rose leaned over them, both trepidation and wonder alight on her face.

"Well, what is it you see, Athenais?" Rose said quietly.

Madame de Louvon looked up at Rose, then at Aimee. "I…It is hard for even me to believe, Rose. Maybe it is because you spoke of the fortune Euphemia David told for you, of how you would be more than a queen. But I still cannot get past what Aimee's fortune is, because it is very similar."

Aimee bit her lips. How would her fortune be similar to Rose's? There was no way that it could be possible…

"Tell me what it is," Aimee insisted, and Madame de Louvon turned her face up to Aimee's.

"You wish to know?"

"I wish to know. Please," Aimee added, trying to hide her desperate curiosity.

Madame de Louvon let go of Aimee's hand. "Your fortune was very similar to Rose's…"

"How so?"

Madame de Louvon sighed. "You will board a ship for home, fleeing a shadow that has yet to fall over our country. But you will not make it to Martinique. Instead, you will be lost in a storm, and captured by pirates, and taken to serve a boy king. But a dark, dashing stranger will come to your rescue, and he will help you to escape to a new land, where you will become a queen. Your happiness will be great, but it will be short-lived, as there will be forces beyond your control who will take it from you. But you will hold your head high, and you will persevere, and while all will not be as it once was, you will be able to have some sort of happiness once more."

"A queen?" Aimee echoed in disbelief. "I am to be a queen, and Rose is to be more than a queen?"

Madame de Louvon sipped at her wine and inclined he head. "That is what I see, and the lines of your palm do not lie."

"You're certain that is what you read?" Aimee persisted.

Madame de Louvon nodded. "I am certain, Aimee. Isn't it ironic, that you two would become queens, one more than a queen? Two Creole girls from the same family in Martinique? Why, after Madame de Maintenon, and after you two, there shall be speculation over what it is about Martinique that it has given the world so many queens!"

Rose laughed at this, and Aimee wasn't even sure whether or not Rose even believed Madame de Louvon. But then Rose seemed to believe the fortune that Euphemia David had told her so long ago, the fortune that had been reinforced by whatever Madame de Louvon had found out when she had read Rose's palm.

It was madness. There was nothing more to be said about it. She was just a girl from Martinique who may marry well to a nobleman of good family of high rank, but there was no way that she could ever become a queen.

There was simply no possible way.

* * *

For the rest of the time that she spent with Rose, Aimee tried to forget the fortune that Athenais de Louvon had told, but still at night as she tried to go to sleep, the words would echo throughout her mind. It was all silliness, just a little game two friends were playing to pass the time, and they had included her to make it more interesting.

And yet still, why did it bother her so?

There was no way that she could be a queen—or like a queen—she reasoned. There was already one queen of France, and both the king's brothers were married, though their wives were quite dowdy, to say the least, compared to the queen. And so how could she, Aimee, become like a queen? By becoming a king's maitresse en titre? It was already known that the king had no interest in keeping any type of mistress, and Aimee shuddered at the thought, remembering what she had heard of Madame du Barry being sent away from the court in disgrace after Louis XV's death.

"Really, Aimee, I wouldn't let it worry you," Rose said gently to her. "The fortune read for me has proved to be true so far. But then maybe yours is nothing but a silly fancy. Such things sometimes can be taken lightly, and it doesn't mean…"

"But yours has come true," Aimee interrupted. "How can I take such a thing lightly when everything in yours has happened as you were told it would? And then the comet…the comet you saw when you left Martinique…and the _shadow..._"

Rose avoided Aimee's earnest stare. "We'll talk no more of it," she said evenly, trying to hide whatever she might be feeling behind a charming smile. "Why don't you show Hortense what a virtuoso you are at the pianoforte? I have trouble getting her to practice. Do you think she will want to become as accomplished at it as you, darling?"

Aimee followed her cousin into the salon and sat before the instrument. Even as she played, she could not forget Rose's seeming reluctance to tell her about what might have come true about the fortune told so long ago. And this made Aimee all the more uneasy about her own fortune.

* * *

Rose and Hortense boarded a ship for Le Havre the very day Roland Dubucq de Saint-Preuve came to collect his niece. Aimee exchanged tearful good-byes and embraces with her cousin and little Hortense while Roland looked on impatiently and muttered something under his breath about "tears, idle tears…the language of women!" Aimee didn't know what he meant by this, only that it must be something quite disparaging, particularly about Rose. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself as she followed her uncle to the carriage. As soon as they were inside, he thumped at the top of it with his walking stick so that the driver would urge the horses on.

Her uncle was very quiet during the journey back to Nantes and Aimee didn't venture much in conversation, for he seemed much preoccupied. Once they returned to the town house in Nantes, a mountain of letters awaited him. As Aimee sat at dinner with him, he opened and read each one, his face growing graver with each letter he read. There had been insurrection in many cities, she knew, because the wheat crop had been poor. The price of bread was high—too high for so many—and there were many people who were starving. They said it was the Queen's fault, that she had caused all of this, Soeur Angelique had whispered before Aimee had left for the holiday. But how could it be the Queen's fault? She wasn't a witch—and here Aimee let a giggle escape at the thought—so she couldn't control the weather.

At the small laugh, Roland put the letter down and stared across the table at her. "And is something funny, Aimee?"

Aimee flushed, fidgeting in her seat, and lowered her eyes down to her dinner plate, murmuring, "No, sir."

Roland's eyes narrowed, and he broke the seal of another letter as he watched her. "It is good that you return to the convent soon," he said acidly. "You've been around Rose for too long, and it has rubbed off on you. The convent will, no doubt, tame any frivolous proclivities she may have instilled in you during your time with her."

"But it was only a week!" Aimee contradicted, her eyes flashing indignantly. "And why do you deplore Rose so? It wasn't her fault fate has been so cruel to her! She is good and kind, and she has taught me about manners and how to speak and act at court. Please stop speaking so ill of her."

Roland tapped a corner of a letter on the dinner table, his lips pressed in a thin line. He set his jaw and glared at her for a moment, then unfolded the letter to read it. It was then that his expression changed, from angry to somewhat pleased. He folded the letter up again, raising his hand so that the footman could take it from him. The footman walked over to Aimee and handed her the letter, which she took with unsure hands.

"My dear girl," Roland Dubucq de Saint-Preuve said as a smile played at the corners of his lips, "your papa has written that, in light of the many…problems plaguing France at this time, he should like to see you put on the next ship bound for Martinique. It seems as though you will continue your education there, for he seeks to hire a governess for you. And think, my dear! You shall be able to see as much of your beloved cousin Rose as you wish, should your maman allow it!"

Aimee unfolded the letter. Yes, here, in Papa's stern, concise hand, was the order that she be sent home immediately. Emma would remain in France and would return later to Martinique, for Grandmere had thought it better to employ a lady's maid from France for her, so that when next set foot in France—once things had settled down, of course—no one would be able to tell if she was a Martiniquaise or a Parisienne.

And Uncle Roland was all smiles, for the little Creole niece he considered to be a slight encumbrance would soon be gone from his house.

* * *

Aimee could not sleep that night, and as the rain lashed against the windowpane, she tossed and turned, her stomach churning with fear.

She would have to travel on a ship back to Martinique, alone, without Emma, without anyone to keep her company. And what would she do without Cecile, who was to remain in her uncle's house? She wanted Cecile at her side, to assure her that all was well, to assure her that her dresses were pretty enough and that her hair was curled just the right way. Without Ceile, who would there be?

She rose and went to the window, peering out at the harbor below. The sea was rough, and she could see the boats and ships bobbing up and down with the stormy current.

And then there was the thunderclap, followed by the lightning.

Aimee jumped and let out a small, startled shriek at this, which roused Cecile briefly from her slumber. Aimee assured Cecile that all was well, and then she clambered back into her own bed, where she slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of storms and rough seas, of waves that swallowed ships whole. Yet the oddest one was that with the black-haired pirate who held his right hand out to her so that he could help her off of the ship before the great wave would rise again to swallow it. She took it, holding firmly onto it. She jumped from the railing of the sinking ship, and he caught her, holding her fast to him as the waves swallowed it whole, as his own ship maneuvered its way out of the storm. He set her down, and as she stammered about how grateful she was for saving her life, she noted the forget-me-not-blue of his eyes and fell silent.

And then she saw the glittering hook of polished steel that he had in place of his right hand, and she gasped in fear and amazement.


End file.
